I’m Thomas Arsenault, and this is how God’s teaching me to live deeply. 

“My story really begins on July 10, 2023. It was a hot summer day at Coldstream Christian Camp in Adams, Tennessee, where I’ve volunteered for years. My now-wife, Claire, was helping run the camp, but back then, we were just engaged. I was there for the weekend, planning to head to Florida for a family vacation afterward. That Monday marked the start of high school week- a big deal at camp. I’d watched lots of these campers grow up, so I stayed to lend a hand. The day started like any other. The high schoolers were buzzing with excitement, and we’d set up an inflatable water slide to help beat the July heat. As they got ready for the activity, I was tasked with retrieving an extension cord to keep the slide operational. While walking the hundred yards or so back to Denson Hall, the camp’s main building, everything suddenly went black. I collapsed on the ground. (It was actually captured on video by a camp videographer doing interviews; you can see me going straight down in the background.) The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed- two days later. Here’s what happened during those lost hours, as pieced together by others. One of the campers, Eli, saw me fall. It was pure providence that he was there -he was leaving camp with his mom because he’d had a minor injury- and he immediately ran to get help. Claire also spotted me from the porch and rushed over to me. The situation was critical. My heart had gone into cardiac arrest from ventricular fibrillation – beating over 300 times per minute. It was basically spasming, not circulating any blood. Within moments, my pulse stopped entirely. Thankfully, Coldstream’s camp nurse, Shea, was also nearby. Shea is a flight nurse with years of experience in high-pressure medical situations. She, Claire’s dad, and several other staff members & friends sprang into action. They started CPR immediately and used an AED, which the camp had only acquired two years prior. It took two shocks and seven minutes of CPR to get my pulse back. By then, my skin had turned a deep blue from lack of oxygen.

When my heart finally restarted, I began seizing. I’d never had a seizure before, but the reduced oxygen to my brain triggered grand mal seizures that lasted over 30 minutes. The volunteer fire department arrived but quickly deferred to Shea, who coordinated the efforts. The ambulance arrived shortly after, and I was sedated, intubated, and rushed to a nearby hospital- the first of three I’d go to over the next 12 days. The initial hospital wasn’t equipped to handle my condition, so I was transferred again, then life-flighted to Centennial Hospital in Nashville. Those 12 days were a blur. Tests revealed no underlying cause for my cardiac arrest. My heart was structurally sound with no blocked arteries, so it had just been an electrical issue. Ultimately, they implanted a subcutaneous defibrillator under my arm. It’s not a pacemaker, it doesn’t regulate my heart’s rhythm- it acts as a safeguard, ready to deliver a shock if my heart ever goes into a dangerous rhythm again. When I finally woke up, I was disoriented but overwhelmed by the stories of God’s hand in every detail. The presence of the right people and resources at the right time -from Eli and Shea to the camp’s AED- was nothing short of miraculous. It wasn’t all easy from there. My vocal cords were damaged pretty badly from all the help I’d received in the ambulance when I was seizing, so I couldn’t speak well for a month and a half. It took a while to get my strength and ability to have a conversation back. Because of those seizures, I wouldn’t medically be allowed to drive for six months. But I’d faced death and come back, with no brain damage, which the doctors, Claire, and my family -my parents drove to Nashville overnight from Florida when this happened- had been very concerned about. The whole experience left me with more than just a new medical device in my body. It reshaped my understanding of life, faith, and community.

I’ve talked to multiple doctors, and every time I tell my story, they’re stunned. A 23-year-old going into cardiac arrest? That just doesn’t happen often, especially without a pre-existing condition. Out-of-hospital cardiac arrest survival rates are grim- somewhere around 5 to 8%. One doctor even told me my odds of survival, given the situation, were closer to 3%. And yet here I am. Having a defibrillator now is like carrying an invisible safety net. It’s there to step in if my heart falters again, though I hope it never has to. The device is a constant reminder of what happened that day and how fragile life is. For weeks after, I found myself feeling afraid it would happen again. Every odd sensation in my chest or shortness of breath felt like disaster might be coming. It took months of therapy, prayer, and support from Claire to begin pushing past that fear. People often ask if I think God allowed this to happen as a wake-up call or a test, but I don’t see it that way. I wasn’t straying from God before; in fact, I thought I was walking pretty faithfully. Instead, I believe God was showing me a deeper layer of His care and provision. This wasn’t about correcting my path- it was about revealing His presence in the chaos and His ability to bring me through it. It’s taught me to rely on Him totally- He’s much more than just a ‘hand on my shoulder’ now. The more I reflect, the more I see His hand in every detail of that day and the days that followed. Life is different now. It’s heavier with meaning and gratitude. I find joy in the small moments- coaching kids in CSPC flag football, leading activities at camp, or just spending an evening laughing with Claire (we got married just a few months after my incident, with CSPC’s Mark Steimer officiating). These aren’t just events to fill the calendar; they’re gifts I might never have had. The beauty of survival isn’t just the second chance- it’s the way it sharpens your focus on what truly matters.

Facing my own mortality at 23 shifted everything for me. Growing up, I watched my mom care for family members as they passed away. But it was always from the outside looking in. This was different—this was me. God used it to show me just how delicate life is, but also how meaningful it can be when it’s lived for Him. Life may not always be as long as we want it to be, but it’s exactly as God intends, and through Him we can make the most of it. Since that day, I’ve carried a new sense of purpose. Every decision feels more intentional. Coaching young athletes isn’t just a pastime; it’s a way to instill resilience and faith in the next generation. Volunteering at camp has become even more profound, knowing how easily those moments could have been taken away. Each memory with Claire -whether it’s a quiet dinner or cheering her on in her job as a social worker- feels like a celebration of life. Therapy has been a cornerstone of my recovery. Through Ebenezer Counseling, I’ve worked to unpack the trauma of nearly dying and the challenges of living with the possibility it could happen again. Claire carries her own emotional scars from that day -she went from planning a wedding to thinking she might have to plan my funeral!- so she’s gone through counseling as well. We’ve both had to grieve the loss of the old, happy-go-lucky Thomas. I’m still a happy person, but I’m different- I’m more intentional about everything. Together, Claire & I learned to lean on each other and on God. She’s been very resilient; my rock through all this. We’ve also both been strengthened by the support of our CSPC newlyweds group. I don’t know exactly what my future holds. Maybe I’ll pursue a career in psychology or nursing, or maybe something research- or science-based, or something I haven’t even considered yet. What I do know is that my life is a testament to God’s provision and grace. Each day is a gift I’m determined not to waste- I’m a vessel for Him, with a hopeful message to convey. I want to live fully, love deeply, and trust that God’s plan -who He’s turning me into- is far better than anything I could envision. And that brings me peace, even in the uncertainty.”